


Ask the Question

by GaryOldman



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley does not love Crowley, Crowley is banging the boss, Happy Ending, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, They work for social media companies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 16:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30108495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaryOldman/pseuds/GaryOldman
Summary: Crowley is a junior employee at a social media company, and he also happens to be sleeping with his boss. In a bar called Eden, he meets someone from a rival company, and begins to question his allegiances.Crowley uses sex as a punishment for himself, so not dub-con, but some bad sexual choices on his part.——“Surely you know about why your Mr. Morgern started the company?” Crowley didn’t like this. He didn’t like thinking about Luc in the world - Luc belonged in this bubble they had built - their sulphuric bubble and nowhere else.“He’s not... I don’t speak to him,” Crowley stuttered out. It wasn’t even really a lie.“Do you not? I was told he’d recommended you specifically. Must’ve made a big impression,” Mr Fell said kindly.“Right...”“Anyway, he left because our CEO wouldn’t make him VP so then he started up this rival firm of yours. Stole a good chunk of our employees too.”“And clients,” Crowley added sardonically.“Yes, and clients. So you do know the story,” he smiled, as if he was enjoying the conversation. Crowley really didn’t know what to make of him. “So now we’re rather at odds, wouldn’t you say?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 75
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	Ask the Question

He was 20 minutes from his latest regret. It hadn’t helped.

Luc’s bed was cold; the sheets too thin, the pillows limp as though his quest for minimalism had jumped past any semblance of comfort and bordered in the realms of torture. But he wasn’t here to sleep. 

He was stuffed into the smallest ball, knees drawn to his chin and his thin arms wrapped around them, the sheet drawn up to his hips. The sound of the shower cut off from the other room and he scrambled. 

Luc didn’t like it when he stuck around. 

He was halfway through shimmying into too-skinny jeans when Luc emerged from the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his waist whilst he toyed with another in his hair. 

“You off?” He said in a way that was both a question and a demand. 

Crowley nodded. 

“Fucking hell, could you at least pretend to look happy?”

“Sorry” his eyes dropped, avoiding looking at the red marks around his wrists. With a clown like grin on his face he looked back at Luc. “Better?” 

Luc didn’t even respond. He just stormed back into the bathroom. He was just in one of his moods, and that was fine. It was all fine. 

By the time he was out on the street, hood pulled over his face and Oyster card in hand, he’d convinced himself he’d had a nice time. Luc was shooting star - beautiful and fascinating and spectacular, and prone to burn you if you were caught in his wake. Crowley was just happy to be near him - to be seen by him, and if that meant he showed up late to work the next day, bags under his eyes and skin sallow and sunken then so be it. No one would mention anything. He suspected they all knew anyway.

Of course, when Luc brushed past him in the corridor, or took the coffee from him mid-presentation, or locked eyes with him in the GM there was no sense that they knew each other at all. Just the CEO and another junior employee - nothing to think twice about. Which of course made Crowley think twice about it. How many other people did his eyes brush over in a way that said ‘I’ll see you later’. 

Crowley craved these days - the days when he knew he could bump into him at any point. They made him sick, yes, and he didn’t get anything done, and even if he did happen to see him around he just ended up feeling disregarded and abandoned, but at least it was something. There was nothing better to do around here.

Luc just had a presence. People noticed him - the curls of golden hair, skin on fire from underneath, and eyes that can cut to the core of every fear you ever had. It wasn’t even that he was the CEO. It was all him, this core of otherness that made you stand on edge. When he came into a room, everyone knew it. 

Today, Crowley was the last to know it. 

“Is there something more important on your phone than work, Anthony?” That voice shivered up his spine. He jumped, spinning around to see Luc sat casually on the edge of his desk.

This was a first.

“Er... hi” he said. His brain was numb. This was unchartered territory. His hand still clutched to his phone.

“Anthony.” That tone, all too familiar in the way it put him in his place.

“Sorry, sir. No, of course not.” He rushed to put his phone back in his pocket.

Luc softened at Crowley’s panic, amusement radiating from those tempest eyes.

“Good, because I have a bit of a mission for you.”

That got Crowley’s attention.

“Now?” He whispered, and the look of anger that washed Luc’s face made Crowley’s assumptions crawl back into themselves. “How can I help, sir?”

“Better,” Luc growled under his breath. Even B, Crowley’s desk mate with sonar hearing, would have struggled to hear that. “SC are sending someone to talk about the new launch,”

“You want me to do a coffee run?” Crowley asked. It wouldn’t be the first coffee run, or the last. It wasn’t exactly part of his job description, but there was a lot of stuff not in his job description.

“I want you to meet with them.”

Crowley met Luc’s eyes then. His face held all the charm of his CEO persona, but the eyes were flaring with something that was just for Crowley. He couldn’t work out if that was good or not.

“Me?”

“Yes,” Luc said impatiently.

“Why?” 

“I need someone I can trust on this.”

Crowley had been on the receiving end of that charm so many times before that he saw right through it. He doesn’t trust me, Crowley thought. He trusts that he has me. And he’s completely right.

“Okay, what do you need from me?”

That’s how he found himself tucked into a booth at a very expensive London bar called The Eden, drinking an apple daiquiri at 1 in the afternoon. In his leather jacket and sunglasses, he did not fit in surrounded by the rest of the patrons in dark suits and tidy haircuts, but Luc had told him what to wear and how to act, so that’s what he was going to do: exactly what he was told. 

He looked at his phone. No texts. Luc wasn’t exactly a big texter, but every now and then he might. He’d been hoping that this favour meant today might make him curious at least.

“Sorry, but are you Crawley?” Crowley looked up to see someone standing over him.

The someone in question had his hands tucked behind his back, wore a bow tie and trench coat, and had the palest blond hair Crowley had ever seen. If Crowley didn’t fit in here, neither did this guy. He looked entirely too... pleased to be in London, and he spoke like he was reading Crowley’s name off a slip of paper. 

“It’s Crowley,” he corrected. “Who’re you?”

“Aziraphale Fell. I work for Silver City,” he said, helping himself to the seat opposite Crowley’s.

“Of course. Hi. I didn’t expect you to be so...” 

He didn’t quite know where he was going with that and stopped dead.

“Daiquiri?” 

“Pardon?”

“Would you like a daiquiri? They’re quite good.”

“It’s the middle of the day.” 

Mr Fell looked scandalised, but Crowley noticed his eyes lingering on the drink in his hands with wanting eyes.

“Yes, but your company is covering the bill so...” he tempted.

“I’ll go for a water please,” he asked the waitress kindly. Crowley sipped the final dredges of his drink and handed the empty glass to her.

“Another, please.”

Crowley had never done a business lunch before, but he was sure that Luc’s instructions weren’t exactly typical. To his companion’s credit, he didn’t seem too perturbed. In fact, he seemed quite chipper as he studied the menu, hardly thinking Crowley in his get up was anything to blink at. Something about that rubbed Crowley the wrong way, like he wanted to be seen.

“Have you worked there long?” He asked, attention still on the menu, until his eyes flickered up. They were blue. 

“Me? No. Two years.” 

“Me too! Well, obviously not with your lot.”

“Obviously,” Crowley drawled. 

“We’re natural rivals, I suppose?” He said it with a flare of drama, and Crowley suspected that he might just be that one colleague who loves a bit of a gossip.

“What?” 

“Surely you know about why your Mr. Morgern started the company?” Crowley didn’t like this. He didn’t like thinking about Luc in the world - Luc belonged in this bubble they had built - their sulphuric bubble and nowhere else.

“He’s not... I don’t speak to him,” Crowley stuttered out. It wasn’t even really a lie.

“Do you not? I was told he’d recommended you specifically. Must’ve made a big impression,” Mr Fell said kindly. 

“Right...” 

“Anyway, he left because our CEO wouldn’t make him VP so then he started up this rival firm of yours. Stole a good chunk of our employees too.” 

“And clients,” Crowley added sardonically.

“Yes, and clients. So you do know the story,” he smiled, as if he was enjoying the conversation. Crowley really didn’t know what to make of him. “So now we’re rather at odds, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose so.”

————

Considering everything, lunch was... nice. The food was nice, the drinks were nice, the company was nice. It was all quite a surprise to Crowley, who couldn’t remember the last time he smiled without being told to. But now his face was starting to strain around the cheeks.

Even as they were leaving and remarking on how little information either of them had attained for their bosses and the rain began to pour down on them the way it only does in London, Crowley felt quite natural leaning into the cover of the other man’s umbrella, offered freely. 

“Well, goodbye then. It was lovely to meet you,” Aziraphale (he had insisted against Mr Fell) said. He smiled naturally, honestly, and for a moment Crowley really did think he meant it.

“Yeah,” he replied. “See you around.”

“I hope so.”

It took exactly three minutes for everything nice and good to wash out of his body like a fever. He’d failed Luc, and what was worse was that he felt guilty. Luc would smell this on him - this failure and this guilt. His heart fell out the bottom of his stomach and he could hardly breathe. What had he done?

He didn’t even realise he had clambered into the building and fell against the elevator walls before pressing the button for the 15th floor rather than his own until the doors opened to Kanean, Luc’s PA typing at their desk. 

“Can I help you?” they asked with a false smile.

“I need to see Luc,” Crowley could barely bring himself to look up - he was dripping wet, looking ridiculous and feeling even worse.

“Mr Morgern is busy.”

“Please. Just tell him I’m here.”

Crowley must’ve looked desperate, because there was a few pressing of buttons and then Kanean’s voice saying “Sir, there’s a boy here to see you. Don’t know. Yes. He’s quite insistent.”

Quiet. Crowley tried to catch his own breath, not sure if this was a good or bad thing he was doing. He didn’t want to disappoint Luc further than he already had. This was business, he repeated to himself and he tried to calm his breathing. Just a debriefing, that’s it. Nothing to do with the panic threatening to swallow him. 

“Anthony,” someone sighed. Crowley looked up to see Luc in the doorway of his office. He was dressed in a dark crimson blazer, no tie, and a face like death. “Come in.” 

Crowley followed Luc into his office - a huge thing filled with very little. There was the desk, a single bookshelf, and a small sofa on the very far end of the room. Crowley headed for it as Luc closed to door behind him, but the second it fell closed Luc turned to him, seething.

‘What the fuck, Anthony? I am the CEO of this company. You cannot just demand to see me like a child.”

“‘I’m sorry.... I didn’t -” 

“Have you been drinking?”

“You said-“ but it wouldn’t be the first time Luc was a different person one day after another. Some days there was no way to win with him.

“I said to get a drink, not get drunk. Hell, Anthony you’re a mess,” he spat, leaning on the edge of his desk and looking down at Crowley where he sat on the sofa. He felt like a child, and cursed at the warm pressure building behind his eyes.

“I fucked up. I’m sorry,” Crowley said in a small voice, wanting nothing more than to disappear and have never come here in the first place.

“Did you at least find out what they want?” 

Crowley considered telling the truth - intended on it, even. Saying ‘no, I got drunk and I ate and I felt like a person for the first time in a long time. I laughed and revelled and took joy in something’ but he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let Luc’s expression darken even further. Couldn’t let him down even more. Couldn’t let him see everything behind his failure into a place where the smallest fire was kindling.

“He... didn’t give up much, but I’ve secured a second meeting to talk details,” Crowley lied, surprising himself with how easily he did it. His lie became his resolve, and no sooner had he said it, than he believed it.

“Do I need to send someone else who can actually do this?”

“No, Luc. Please. Let me make it up to you,” Crowley begged. He wasn’t above begging. He knew it, Luc knew it. Hell, he thought that Kanean probably knew it at this point, but that didn’t matter.

“You have one more chance.” 

Crowley knew that wasn’t a warning, and left the office feeling worse than when he’d arrived.

——

Luc didn’t call for three days, which was fine. It was nothing more than Crowley deserved after his behaviour in the office, but he was hoping that it didn’t mean he was done with him.

In the meantime, Crowley sought out his retribution. 

Funnily enough, Aziraphale Fell at Silver City was quite an easy person to track down online. One quick Google search and he had his email. It was eerily easy to put together the email, something he would normally fret over for hours. But he didn’t think Aziraphale would care that much if he came across too much or not enough.

So he pressed send.

Send to: Aziraphale.Fell@Silver.City  
From: A.J.Crowley@InfernoMarketing.uk

Subject: Eden

Hi Mr Fell, 

Just wanted to follow up on our meeting yesterday. I believe there are a few things left to iron out, and think it would behest us both to arrange a second meeting.

Crowley  
———

Send to: A.J.Crowley@InfernoMarketing.uk  
From: Aziraphale.Fell@Silver.City

Subject: Re: Eden

Crowley!

Lovely to hear from you! 

I was thinking of emailing you with a similar suggestion myself! When are you free? Does it have to be in that restaurant again? I know a wonderful sushi place!

Best regards!  
Aziraphale Fell

——

Send to: Aziraphale.Fell@Silver.City  
From: A.J.Crowley@Inferno.uk

Subject: Re: Re: Eden

Tonight? 7.30? 

C

——-

Aziraphale emailed him the address of the restaurant. It wasn’t far from his office, so he stuck around, nose buried in his computer hoping that if Luc came around he’d be at least happy that he was doing something. He was the last one in the office, everyone else leaving 10 minutes before 5 as usual, and sat there in the empty room. His eyes jumped to the door every time he heard a sound thinking that Luc had come for him.

It never happened, and at 7.15 he switched off his computer, threw on his jacket and headed out of the building. 

By the time he reached the restaurant, Aziraphale was already waiting outside, coat pulled up around his ears. When he saw Crowley approaching, his face lit up and he waved, causing the stream of Londoners between them to wave back in the assumption that he was a forgotten acquaintance. By the time Crowley had reached him he’d already apologised to seven different people for the confusion. 

“Hello, my dear,” he said with a brightness Crowley wasn’t used to being directed at him. 

Aziraphale led the way into the restaurant - a small independent sushi bar called Arc filled primarily with young wealthy looking kids who paid a lot to look like they had no money. He pulled into a small booth, and gestured for Crowley to do the same. 

And for all of his bad mood, his guilt and general self-loathing of the past three days and the previous twenty one years before that, there was something about this guy. He was no older than Crowley, but he seemed so certain of himself. Confident in a way that would never come across as arrogant, which made a big change to the people he saw on a day to day basis. And there was something about him the just shone, not in the way Luc shone, like a meteor heading right for you - more like the warm glow of the first sun of Spring. 

By the time Crowley paid any attention to the menu, Aziraphale was already finishing up his order. 

“And what will you have, dear?” He said, turning on Crowley. Crowley, who was never really one for uncooked fish, cold rice, or seaweed shook his head.

“Just a coke, please.”

The waiter nodded, and headed back to the counter.

“Oh if you’re not a fan of sushi you should have said! I’d have been happy going elsewhere.”

“It’s okay. Not really hungry,” and it wasn’t a lie. He couldn’t remember the last time he was properly hungry - most times he just ate for the sake of it or because he needed to in order to stay alive. 

Food came, and Aziraphale indulged whilst Crowley sipped on his coke. It was easier without the alcohol - not getting distracted - but even still, there was something about his companion that made him forget what he was there for. It was only the lingering sense of Luc that kept it in his mind. 

“So,” Crowley said at a pause in the conversation. “Work.” 

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said before taking another bite of a pile of rice and green stuff that made Crowley’s stomach crawl. “I suppose they’re hoping you’ll do a bit of espionage?” 

“What makes you say that I’m not doing espionage right now?” Crowley asks, wondering if he can even fool himself of it.

“We’ve been talking about London bars for half an hour. If they wanted those details they could go on TimeOut.”

“Huh...”

“What?” 

“I just didn’t have you pegged as someone who would know what TimeOut was... or the internet for that matter,” Crowley shrugged. 

“I work for a social media company,” Aziraphale pointed out matter-of-factly. 

“So do I. That’s why I don’t use social media,” Crowley pointed right back.

“Touché,” Aziraphale said with a grin. “So if I was to look you up I wouldn’t find you?” 

“I have a staff account on Inferno but I don’t use it,” Crowley shrugged, ignoring the lightness of his gut when Aziraphale asks. “I’m on text though...” 

He’s not sure why he says it. This guy is his... corporate enemy or something. As much as Crowley has been sent to spy on him, he’ll have been told the same. But there’s something about him that Crowley doesn’t think would go through with spying. And in any case, he’d merely mentioned he was on text, it’s not like he was handing out his number on a napkin. 

Aziraphale rooted around in his coat and pulled out an old Nokia and slipped it towards Crowley. The ‘add new contact’ menu was open, and without any fuss or comment, Crowley did. He tried hard not to think about what it meant. It meant nothing. He was here for Luc; for work. It was a work thing. 

When Aziraphale settled the bill, they headed back out to the street. It was less busy now - the only gathered groups were those outside the pubs and Nando’s. For a second, Crowley thought they were going to pair off there and then, but as he turned left, Aziraphale kept pace. 

It was cool outside, and nice to walk in silence together.

“There’s a flood coming,” he said eventually. Crowley looked at him with utter bewilderment. 

“What?” 

“That’s what they’re calling it. A week of ‘flood’ - trying out new features, flooding the market. I don’t really know.”

“Oh, right.”

“I just thought... you might need something to go back with.” 

“Oh,” Crowley said again. “Thanks. I, err-“

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just say the word influencer to them and it’ll keep them busy for a few days.” 

Crowley laughed, really laughed right from the bubbling feeling in his stomach. Looking over at Aziraphale, his blonde curls twitching in the wind, he couldn’t help but let the smile linger. He didn’t have many friends in the city, or any really, and... well, he was funny. It was okay to laugh.

They reached the tube much too soon. 

“Picadilly,” Aziraphale said.

“Central,” Crowley answered. 

He was being one of the people he hated most- the people saying goodbye awkwardly in front of the ticket gates, parting the crowd around them like the Red Sea - Central line heading to the right, Picadilly to the left. But he didn’t find himself caring at the angry sighs. He didn’t want to just walk off without a goodbye. 

“Right,” he said awkwardly. “I should-“

“Of course.”

“Well, have a good evening.” 

“You too, Crowley.” 

Even the rattle of the Central line, the drunken business people heading back towards their depressing little flats after a day at their depressing little jobs, couldn’t shake the peace he felt in that moment. He hadn’t failed Luc. And he... he’d had a good evening - a really good evening. And on his walk from the station to his flat he popped by the corner shop and grabbed something for dinner.

———

The next morning he typed out a long email to Luc, apologising for everything and giving the info Aziraphale had given him. 

Then he pressed backspace on the whole thing, leaving only the information about the flood, and hit send. 

An hour later he received a call from Kanean. 

“Mr. Morgen wants to see you in his office.”

“Now?” 

“Yes Mr. Crowley,” and they hung up. 

Crowley shuffled over to the lift and pressed the number for Luc’s floor. He jumped nervously from one foot to another as it went up, which seemed to annoy some of the other inhabitants of the lift. They all shot him dirty looks as they got out. 

For the last two floors he was alone in there, and it struck him that... he was okay. Nervous, sure, but the last time he’d traced these steps he’d been a wreck. Today? He was fine. He’d slept. He’d eaten. He could smile.

And smile he did, shooting Kanean his most charming and ridiculous grin, bearing all teeth possible. Considering the last time he was up here he was crying, Crowley rather hoped he’d given the receptionist a little bit of whiplash. 

“Go in,” they said. 

The door was open, and Crowley could already see Luc. He was sitting at his desk, white shirt, no tie, arms rolled up to the elbows, entranced by whatever it was he was doing. 

Crowley knocked as he entered, disturbing Luc from his reverie, and his sharp blue eyes bore into Crowley. 

Funny how different blue eyes can be, Crowley thought, thinking of softer eyes, warm blue like the Mediterranean Sea. Luc’s eyes were blue like a storming sky.

“Door,” Luc said like he was annoyed at having to remind him. Crowley, still considering eyes, did so without emotion. 

“You wanted me, Mr Morgen?” Crowley spoke with a hint of mischief, but unless you were looking for it, which Luc certainly was, you might have missed it. 

“I see you’ve calmed down,” he shot back. “Good. This flood thing - it was a good tip. How’d you do it?” 

“Pardon?” 

“What did you do?” He annunciated every word.

“Just chatted.” 

“Chatted?” Luc paused, and that small spark of _guilthappynice_ inside Crowley felt like the warning beacons of Gondor shining out of his face. “Keep it up.” 

“Oh, yes sir,” Crowley said as the oxygen returned to his brain. 

“Come over tonight. 11.”

Luc was back to focusing on his computer now. He could have been asking Crowley to grab him a cup of tea by his tone, but relief flooded through Crowley. He’d done well. Luc wanted him. They could go back to normal. 

———

It had been about two weeks since ‘the flood’, and Luc was still pleased with him. His skin bore the marks of that pleasure, and he told himself that he was happy about it. 

Luc was so pleased that he’d invited Crowley to attend some conference about marketing something. It wasn’t a date, Crowley knew that. There would never be a date, that wasn’t what this was. At most he was sleeping his way up the ranks. He wondered what Luc would say if he ever told him he didn’t want that - didn’t want to end up as VP of marketing and that had never been what it was about, but it seemed unimportant. For now he was... not happy, but content with walking around a packed out hotel conference room in the expensive part of the city drinking for free and hanging by in case Luc needed him later. 

That was how he found himself at the hotel bar, nursing the same drink he’d ordered an hour ago. It was late. He was tired and hungry and wanted to go home, or splash out his whole paycheque on one of the rooms upstairs and just sleep. 

“Crowley?” A familiar voice called from behind him. 

He didn’t need to see the smiling face to know who it was. No one else had ever sounded that pleased to see him. 

“Aziraphale,” he found himself brightening as the other man took a seat beside him at the bar. He looked about as worn out as Crowley felt. 

“Still working for Inferno then?” 

“What kind of stupid question is that? Why else would I be hanging around a digital marketing conference?”

“The conference ended some time ago,” Aziraphale pointed out smugly. 

“Why are you still here then? Having a sordid affair?” He snorted.

Aziraphale choked at that, almost a laugh. 

“Goodness no. Do people really have sordid affairs in hotels anymore?” Crowley found himself tempted to tell him everything, about the sex, the mission, and everything else but instead took another sip of his drink. “The restaurant here does amazing oysters, and I thought since I was in the area I might treat myself. Sadly, the only time they had a spare table was in about ten minutes, so I’ve been keeping myself busy.”

Crowley wanted to ask how someone like Aziraphale kept himself busy, but he was a little too drunk and a lot too grumpy to bother. 

“Never had oysters,” he grumbled instead. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale lit up. “Oh, please would you join me? You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” 

“I-“ Crowley fluttered. 

“Please - I do rather hate eating alone!” Aziraphale pushed.

Crowley’s eyes dropped to his phone. It was late. Luc probably wasn’t even in the building anymore. And he was hungry... 

“Alright, Oysters. Sounds good.”

——

At some point it became a bit of a routine. Aziraphale would text him, mostly just one or two words about an event or a restaurant or park he wanted to see, followed by a question mark. Crowley, not used to people asking him if he wanted to do something, but rather telling him where and when to be, spent the rest of the week tying himself in knots about whether he should want to say yes, before responding with a simple thumbs up emoji on a Friday evening. 

More often than not, Aziraphale had already booked their tickets or table. 

There was the medieval armour exhibition at the Natural History Museum, matinee tickets to Hamlet at the Globe, and even, on one occasion, the Eurostar tickets to Paris for crepes. Every weekend he would follow Aziraphale around like this was a chore, but find himself more and more revelling in the utter joy that the other man found in the city. 

And then the evenings would come and his phone would buzz - _come over_ \- and he’d drag himself away, cross London remembering every reason he hated the place, before knocking on Luc’s door close to midnight. And if he thought of soft blue eyes whilst Luc fucked him, he didn’t let himself dwell on it. 

——

Crowley was distantly aware that he was in love with Aziraphale, and it did nothing but feed his self-loathing. Of course he was going to become attached to the first person to show him any kindness. He was pathetic. 

Then there was Luc. Luc wouldn’t care if Crowley was fucking his way across the Piccadilly line, as long as he showed up when told to and didn’t question him. Crowley was sure that he wasn’t the only one receiving the texts from the CEO - just another pretty face in the rotation of them Luc had at his disposal. The problem was who Aziraphale was. He was the enemy. He was soft. 

And the more Crowley was in love with him, the less Luc had him in his pocket. 

So he didn’t tell. He kept it quiet, did what he was told. He drank himself into oblivion most nights, hoping to dim that yearning and hope that one of these days Aziraphale would reach across the dinner table and take his hand, or gently touch the places on his skin that had only ever been bruised. 

He’d spent so long dreaming that it would happen, that when it did he didn’t really know what to do about it. 

He was hungover, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Luc had summoned him late last night, and the ensuing time together wasn’t the gentlest it had ever been. It’s what Crowley had wanted - asked for it just to prove to himself that he could feed something that wasn’t this pathetic yearning. Only now, in the morning light of St James’ Park as he brought a coffee cup to his lips and the cuffs of his jacket pulled back to reveal the marks left there, he wished he hadn’t. 

Aziraphale noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything, which really only infuriated Crowley further. How can you see how terrible the world is, and still believe in the goodness of it all? 

“Crowley,” he said softly, catching Crowley’s wrist gently in his hand. He traced the nasty purple of the bruises like they were jewellery, and looked up at Crowley with concern in his eyes.

Crowley could deal with anger. He’d been butting up against anger his whole life - his jokes, his walls, even his body were shields against it, and he was safe. But the tenderness in Aziraphale’s expression undid him. 

“My dear, are you alright?”

“M’fine.” 

“Crowley,” he said again, reaching out to Crowley’s face and gently, so gently, turning his face towards him with a brush of his chin. 

It was all Crowley could to do not fall into his hand. 

“Look at me?” Aziraphale asked. Aziraphale never told him what to do.

So Crowley did. There was nothing Aziraphale could ask that he wouldn’t give, because he was a pathetic little worm. 

“I can’t pretend to know what’s happening for you right now, but I am worried.” 

“Worried?” 

“Yes. You’re... you’re my best friend, Anthony.” 

There is was - that softness, that honesty, and if Crowley was less in love with him that would have been enough. Aziraphale was his best friend too, his only friend. And here he was, undoing him like a slipped stitch in his knitting, and Crowley could only feel himself filling the spaces with an anger of his own. 

“Best friend, is it?”

“Crowley, I-“

“Come off it, Aziraphale. Don’t pretend you’re not jealous. I’ve seen the way you look at me, y’know, when you’ve had too much wine. You might act all... nice but in the end you’re just like the rest of us.”

“And what is that?” Aziraphale balked. 

“Cruel,” Crowley spat. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t do this-“ he brandished the marks on his wrists like they were weapons of his own “-if I gave you the chance.” 

“Really, Crowley, I don’t know-“

“You do,” he said. “You can have me, if you want. Take me home. Take me to a bloody back alley, whatever. I’m yours. You know I’m yours.”

Crowley had inched closer to Aziraphale, who was flushed either with indignation or something else as he stared at Crowley’s mouth forming the words. 

“You want to fuck me? Want me to make me cry out or choke or whatever? I’ll do it. Just tell me to.” 

“No.” Aziraphale drew back.

“Pardon?” 

“No, Crowley. I -“ he was shaking now, eyes sadder than Crowley had ever seen them. He tried to be happy about it. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Crowley paused.

“Yes, you are,” he replied, certainty tainting every syllable.

“I’m not.” Aziraphale said, softer now. “I’m not going to be another person to do this to you.”

Crowley looked down at his wrists, felt the different marks across his body that he’d worn more regularly than half the clothes in his wardrobe. They were ugly bruises of purple, green, yellow, blue - reddened marks from teeth and nails. When Aziraphale looked at them, he saw hurt. When Crowley looked at them, he saw what he thought was love.

“You don’t... you don’t want me.” 

“That’s not-“ Aziraphale stared up at him, raw with confusion and something Crowley couldn’t put his finger on. Disappointment, he supposed.

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll see you around, Aziraphale.” 

——

When Luc called that night, Crowley didn’t pick up. 

——

Crowley took the next week off sick. Luc didn’t call again, and when Aziraphale texted he deleted it before he could read it. 

——

A month. It wasn’t a long time, all considered, but the weekends dragged now that he knew they didn’t have to. 

There was another conference. Crowley wasn’t really planning on going, but that morning he woke up, dragged his suit on, and took the tube going in to opposite direction of work. 

It was early, but not too early that he didn’t know why he was there. The streets were mostly empty - some joggers and early risers grabbing coffee, but the work rush wouldn’t begin for another hour, and the conference wouldn’t start for another two. He was planning on hanging around the hotel bar again, a Bloody Mary to start the day, sitting with a good view of the conference hall door, but something in a back alley caught his attention. 

“Hand it over!” The voice was urgent. “Everything, quick!” 

It really shouldn’t have surprised him to see the victim of the mugging was the one person he had been half hoping to run into and half hoping to avoid. 

He dragged himself down the alley, phone in hand.

“Hi, sorry, but do you know where Pret is? Maps said it was this way?” He called, as though he hadn’t noticed a thing out of the ordinary. 

The mugger, a young looking guy with matted hair and desperate eyes just stared at him. 

“No,” he said. 

“Oh, right. That’s weird,” Crowley said, still walking forwards, not daring to look at Aziraphale lest it give the ploy away or dismantle the walls he’d been building since their last encounter. “Don’t know why I bother with anything other than Google Maps.”

He was close now, and could feel Aziraphale’s presence as he put himself between the two men. To his merit, Aziraphale said nothing, just stared on in mild annoyance and milder amusement. The mugger in front of him, caught between Crowley and a brick wall was looking more nervous with every step he took. 

“Look, buddy - get outta here and no one’s gotta get hurt.” His hands were in his pockets, maybe hinting at having a knife, but Crowley knew kids like him. Crowley was one bad decision from being a kid like him.

“Tempting,” Crowley said casually. “The problem is that, and no offence to you, it’s just that you’ve forgotten something very basic.”

The mugger gulped in response, even looking to Aziraphale for reassurance. 

“I don’t give a fuck if I get hurt,” Crowley growled, as the mugger’s back pressed against the brick wall of the end of the alley. He was practically surrounded by piling bin bags, and it smelt disgusting, but his eyes were wide with fear. “Give me the wallet.”

The mugger did, chucking it over onto the floor of the alley behind Crowley. 

“And the rest...” 

He pressed Aziraphale’s phone into his hand. 

“Really? What kind of idiot steals a ten year old Nokia, honestly? Some advice? Get off the drugs or whatever. It’s not worth it. Okay, just... I don’t know, fuck off.” 

And he did, launching himself past Crowley and out of the alley, past Aziraphale without a look, swinging the tote bag in his hands desperately. 

“Oi!” Crowley screamed after him. “Drop the books!” 

The mugger did as he was told, almost as if he’d forgotten he was even holding the bag, and dashed onto the street and was gone. Crowley took a moment to breathe, realising that he was now alone with Aziraphale for the first time since the incident. 

After a moment of hesitation, Crowley moved with the same purpose, eyes avoiding Aziraphale, as he picked up the wallet and the tote bag from the other end of the alley. When he finally turned to hand over the personal affects, the other man was just staring at him like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.

“Pancakes?” Crowley suggested lightly as he turned away, before another body pushed into his at full force. 

For a stupid moment Crowley thought the mugger was back, but of course it was Aziraphale, gripping his arms around Crowley’s neck as he pulled him close.

“Crowley,” he muttered like one might say a prayer. Crowley felt the breath against his cheek, and for a moment allowed himself to fold his arms around the shorter man.

“Pancakes?” He suggested again, this time the weight of the past month catching his throat. 

Aziraphale pulled back, his eyes bright. 

“Pancakes, yes.” 

——

They don’t talk about their last meeting but it hangs over them the whole day. For his part, Crowley sips on coffee paying little attention to anything, even as Aziraphale natters on about this, that, and the other. His mind was elsewhere. Crowley knew lust - it was just about the only thing he thought he understood about other people, and he was no stranger to eyes that saw his body as a thing to possess more than a person. He’d been certain - certain and hopeful - that those seeds of _wantneedmine_ had flared in Aziraphale. But he’d been wrong. He wasn’t wanted. 

But this thing between them... Crowley wanted it. It wasn’t like with Luc, where every moment burned in a way he told himself would be worth it later. It was something completely different - like oxygen and water and coffee - equal parts want and need, pleasure and pain. He’d spent the last month wanting; not just the want that coalesced in him as he watched Aziraphale roll his eyes back as he tasted a particularly delectable dessert. He’d hear things on the TV, read an article in the Metro, see some ridiculous person doing some ridiculous thing and his first instinct was to want to tell Aziraphale about it. He ached for the other man’s disarmingly dry retaliations and just to be in the glow of his love for life. 

The lust was a weed inside him, growing through the cracks in his concrete with no sign of abating. It didn’t matter how many times Luc fucked him, or how many times he got himself off thinking about it. The want overran him. He ached with the desperation of his want, and in his self loathing knew that it was punishment for wanting something he didn’t deserve.

But Crowley understood punishment, and in any case, it was a fair trade. 

Crowley spends the whole day listening to Aziraphale prattle on about every tiny thought that crosses his mind, and though he grunts his responses and wears a mask of apathy, he feels the want ease and break, like waves retreating back to the sea. By the time they part for the day, the conference long concluded, Crowley can breathe again. 

They stand in the curved halls of the tube station, staring at one another like there might be anything left to say. Somewhere down the way a busker warbles on a violin, and Crowley might have found the swelling of the music around him funny in another world; with anyone else. 

“Right, well - see you around,” he managed to say finally. 

Aziraphale looked like he might say something, but Crowley didn’t give him the time, turning on his heel and joining the river of commuters towards the Piccadilly line. The music grew louder, so loud that he almost missed it - 

“Crowley!” A voice called after him. He stepped to the side, much to the chagrin of the people trying to get past, and turned around.

Aziraphale was running after him. His eyes were bright and his cheeks pink by the time he caught up. 

“Oh Crowley, you go too fast for me,” he said breathily.

Before Crowley could ask what he wanted or make some cocky sarcastic remark about the wrong tube line, Aziraphale was leaning closer to him. The other man went slowly, eyes fixed on Crowley’s and he felt himself getting lost in the tenderness in his expression, always checking it was okay, taking only the inches that Crowley was willing to share, and when he found no resistance he pressed their lips together. 

Crowley had done a lot of filthy things with his mouth - had kissed and fucked and called out for god in times of physical ecstasy, but nothing felt more like a prayer or sin than the gentle press of Aziraphale against him in the middle of a tube station. 

It was quick; chaste really, but Aziraphale pulled away and left the only contact between them as the reverent touch of his fingers around Crowley’s wrist - possessive but light enough to break with a single intention. _Mine?_ A question. Always a question.

“I’ll see you next week,” he whispered, or maybe he shouted it, because nothing else existed in that moment - not the tutting commuters, not the violinist, not the scream of the trains arriving and leaving and arriving again. 

Then he turned, walked back the way he came, leaving Crowley bruised head to toe with the softness of it all. 

———

“Mr. Morgern wants to see you,” Kanean told him over the phone and then immediately hung up.

Presumptuous, Crowley thought to himself as he pushed the crappy chair out from the desk and stood up. Though, I suppose it is his company so I can’t exactly say no. 

As he walked out of the lift, Kanean gestured to the open door without really looking up. The whole floor felt quiet, and he could hear his footsteps as he crossed the marble floor. Without needing to be told, Crowley entered without a knock, and shut the door immediately behind him. 

“Hey,” he said, hoping to announce his presence. Luc’s eyes shot up, and for a moment he felt them cut into him. 

“You’ve been ignoring my messages,” he growled. A week ago, Crowley would have been undone. 

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve been... busy.” 

Luc lifted a single, elegant eyebrow at that. 

“I have another mission for you,” Luc said. Anyone else, Crowley was sure, would call it a favour, but that would insinuate some kind of return. Luc did do favours.

“Sure, how can I help?” 

“This source of yours as Silver City... do you think you can get his login details?” 

“For Silver City?” 

“Yeah.”

“And how am I meant to do that?” 

“I don’t know. Fuck him and steal his phone if you have to. I don’t care.”

“What are you going to do with the login?” 

“That’s above your pay grade,”

“So you want me to what? Pimp myself out for information you won’t even share with me? Fuck, Luc.” 

Luc stood up then, moving around the desk so they were nearly touching. 

“Are you jealous? Jealous that I’d let someone else have you?” Luc teased, eyes growing heavy with the implication. He reached out, one single finger tracing the skin of Crowley’s forearm. “Does it make you feel pathetic? Cheap? Disposable?” 

Crowley was rooted to the spot, the words and touch crawling through him, settling heavy in his heart that wanted to answer _yesyesyespatheticdesperateyes_. 

“I’ll want you right now,” Luc continued, the honey of his voice thick against Crowley’s ear now. 

The finger tracing his arm stopped at the wrist, and suddenly Luc was squeezing against the pale pulse point with no worries about leaving marks. It was enough to knock him backwards from his roots, and shake the hurt little part of him that leaned into Luc knowing it would only bring more pain. 

“No.” 

“Anthony,” Luc’s tone was serious, but he was nervous, too, Crowley noticed. He’d never looked at Luc and seen anything but collected calm, and now he was there, half-hard, staring at his office door like the eyes of god were behind it. 

“No. I’m done with this.”

“Anthony, if you open that door right now...” 

“What - you’ll fire me?” Crowley barked out a laugh. “That’ll look good. Junior employee fired when he wouldn’t fuck the CEO in his office. Calm down, I’m not going to make a scene. But I do quit. And I want a very sizeable severance settlement - consider it hush money. And one more thing - you’re not even the best I’ve ever had, so stop thinking you’re some gift from the gods and invest in a new mattress.” 

He turned, leaving Luc torn between total rage and absolute shock, threw the door open, and slammed it shut. 

Kanean, the unflappable secretary, sat and stared at Crowley like he really didn’t know what on earth was going on. 

“He might need five minutes, and then a tissue or something,” Crowley shot his way, before skipping off towards the stairs. He wasn’t going to wait around for the lift. He had somewhere to be.

——

Aziraphale picked up on the second ring. 

“Crowley, is everything okay?” The urgency in his voice melted through Crowley, and he found himself smiling into the handset. 

“Are you at work?”

“Yes, what’s wrong?” 

“Come outside.”

“I can’t- alright, one second,” the call cut out.

The Silver City headquarters were obnoxiously modern. Tall, glass monstrosities in the most expensive area of the city, and oddly not too far or too different from Inferno’s HQ. Crowley had sprinted from the latter, bag slung over his shoulder, revelling in the thrum of the city around him and the possibility of it all. 

He waited for Aziraphale to appear as a glowing spot of tweed amongst a wash of dark, expensive suits. He could laugh - could get on a plane and take a trip to Rome or Greece or Japan or the moon... okay, probably not the moon, but still. He was still high on the look on Luc’s face as he shut the door behind him, and when he looked up to see Aziraphale edging towards him with gentle concern painted on every feature he couldn’t stop the grin taking over his face. 

“Is everything-?” 

“I think I love you,” he said. “I know that’s probably quite fast. In any other universe I’m sure it would take me a millennia to admit it, and then another one to do anything about it, but... I do. I love you.” 

“You... “

“I quit my job. I-“ Crowley didn’t really know how much of his situation that Aziraphale had pieced together, and didn’t really want the first time he told Aziraphale he loved him to become a huge explanation of it all, so he took a deep breath and searched for the words. 

“No one has ever loved me. Shh, no it’s okay. It’s true. My mum didn’t, my dad probably didn’t even know I existed. I went from home to home but never... anyway it doesn’t matter. At some point I guess I realised the closest I could get was want. People wanted me and that was nice. I might not be worthy of love, but I could - doesn’t matter, sorry. But then I met you. And you love everything. You love food, and life, and the city, and the bloody lampposts. And watching you love so freely, so gently... it scared me because then I could see it... see that I’ve never had it. And for the first time being wanted wasn’t really enough.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head. “You’re so wrong,”

Aziraphale closed the gap between them, sinking warm fingers into Crowley’s hair as he wrapped him in an embrace. Crowley didn’t fight it. He leaned into it, letting everything melt away until it was just the two of them; just Aziraphale’s lips whispering his name.

“I do love you. You know that, don’t you?” he whispered.

“I didn’t think it was possible, but I-“ _hopedlongedprayed_

“I love you,” Aziraphale said again, loosening his hold around Crowley enough to kiss him. “I love you.”

———

Crowley was 20 minutes away from their latest exploit, and he was tired. He lay naked and sweaty in the nest of blankets and pillows that was Aziraphale’s bed, listening to the sound of the kettle boiling. Two minutes later and Aziraphale was shuffling into the room with two mugs of cocoa. He settled them on either bedside table before lying down. Crowley used the last of his energy to curl python like around the other man’s legs, chest and neck, pressing his lips against the expanse of throat. 

“Mine,” he smiled happily to himself. 

Aziraphale began to run gentle fingers up the length of Crowley - the dip of his waist, the lines of his collarbone, the edge of his jaw. Every nerve ending waited for his caress and the gentle kisses his was placing on the pale of his skin. 

He’d never really understood what people meant about an afterglow until Aziraphale. 

“You’re so good” he whispered against his navel. “You’re so lovely” he said to his thighs. “You’re so loved,” he kissed into Crowley’s lips. “You’re so wonderful.” 

Crowley drifted towards sleep that way - warm and soft and kissing lips that tasted like hot chocolate and sex. When he woke he was never alone, always held tightly within Aziraphale’s sleeping arms, but loose enough to leave if he needed, as if asking and answering the question _be mine stay forever?_.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I have a bit of a pattern of writing one long multi-fic funny little fluff piece, followed by a heart shattering one shot where our boys are hurting. Why am I like this? When will it end?! 
> 
> Anyway, this hasn’t been edited or anything so apologies if there are any typos or whatever. 
> 
> I hope you liked it! 
> 
> <3 G.


End file.
